The Clouds can Talk too
by Lhye
Summary: In companion to "What the Rain Said", a collection of drabbles, one-shots, extras, and other leaks of imagination in relation to the story. Sixth chapter: Yuuma wants her to be happy...
1. The Catfight

Ah, so, yes, the drabbles continue. My imagination takes me to strange places, but again, if anyone's got some ideas, please let me know :3

This came about partially from Jun-I's comment from a while back, about the "Kyuzo vs. Kirara element. I thought it would be pretty fun to explore. :) It's indeed a Kyuzo vs. Kirara cat-fight, over, of course, Kambei.

The warning here is that they're both, especially Kirara, going to be more or less OOC, so as to...make it more funny.  
This is actually pretty stereotypical. Neither of them are so catty...but, well, take it in good humor, haha..^^

* * *

It had started with a comment over dinner.

"It's unusual to see you for a meal, Kyuzo-dono." Shichiroji commented, passing a bowl of rice over to the woman. Quietly, she accepted the bowl with a nod of thanks.

"Sure is." Something in Kirara's tone pricked at Kyuzo's nerve, and she raised her eyes suspiciously to the priestess. "Very strange."

"Nice to have your company." Katsushiro agreed, oblivious to the sudden, exclusive, tension in the air.

Heihachi nodded amicably, smiling as always towards Kyuzo. "Very much so....meals should be shared among as many people as possible. The more the merrier."

"I agree." Kirara smiled sweetly. She then added, "Of course, it also depends _who_ is there."

Her comment _seemed_ innocent, but Kyuzo's eyes narrowed. All other chatter ceased in an instant.

"What do you mean?" Katsushiro asked, then stifled a yelp as something stabbed him unnecessarily hard in the back with what he discovered to be Heihachi's chopsticks.

"Heihachi-dono-" Katsushiro was about to ask something along the lines of "what the hell!?", but Heihachi's stern look stopped him.

Suddenly, from his other side, Shichiroji whispered fiercely into his ear, "Trust me, _do not_ get involved. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes down."

"What for...?" He was about to find out. He looked around to find that every other man in the room was unnecessarily focused on their bowls.

* * *

Early in the morning, Katsushiro approached the older, more experienced men during a semi-private breakfast.

"Shichiroji-dono..." He started curiously, and the other man looked up at him from his seat. "What did you mean last night? What's going on?"

With a sigh, Shichiroji shook his head. "You haven't been around many women, have you, Katsushiro-kun?"

Katsushiro flushed, and, a little indignant, defended, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"That's a 'no, I haven't, please indulge me!'!" Gorobei let out a hearty laugh, and Heihachi snickered behind his glove. Katsushiro turned another shade of red.

"Look, Katsushiro-kun..." Heihachi smiled and pat the boy on the shoulder. "You just...want to stay out of their way."

"Out of whose way?"

".....Poor boy."

"Oh, no. They'll eat him."

"Just take the advice."

"H-hey!" Katsushiro frowned. "Can someone just tell me?"

"Alright, since we have to spell it out for you." Shichiroji laughed, in good humor, Heihachi and Gorobei joining, chuckling as the female-wide men teaching the newbie. "There's a new battle starting, so to speak. And _not one_ of us can help win it."

Setting his bowl down and standing to wrap an arm around Katsushiro's shoulder, he continued, "A battle between women."

"Between women?" Katsushiro frowned.

"Mm-hmmmmmm." Shichiroji rubbed his chin with his other hand. "How to put it....look, when women, such as Kirara-dono and Kyuzo-dono start up with this kind of thing-"

"Wait...Kirara-dono and Kyuzo-dono?" Katsushiro echoed. "What does this have to-"

"Getting to it..." Shichiroji considered how best to put it. "They've just.....entered a rivalry. Kirara-dono is pulling Kyuzo-dono into a confrontation. They're fighting over...well...._er_....that's not important right now. Anyhow, they're in a bid for power, in a way. And when women feud, it's much different than when men fight."

"How so?"

"There's absolutely no winning it." Shichiroji smirked.

"What? But Kirara-dono and Kyuzo-dono are both very rational people. Why would they fight?" Katsushiro frowned.

"....He's hopeless." Gorobei laughed. "He'll find out soon enough."

* * *

Among all the life lessons Katsushiro had picked up on this entire journey, this was going to be one of the most fearsome.

Apparently very ready to engage in the strange sense of battle, Kirara's second strike came in the form of another quasi-meaningless comment.

Sitting on the porch of her home, she was carefully sewing a tear in her dress.

"Sister, you're so good at sewing." Komachi observed, impressed.

Giving no indication that she knew Kyuzo was only a few feet away, leaning against a tree, Kirara smiled at her sister. Snapping the thread in her hand with a loud _twang_, she replied, "You'll learn too, Komachi. _Any_ woman should know how to sew well."

Giving no indication that she knew Kirara had aimed that at her, Kyuzo glared out of the corner of her eye.

If this little tart wanted a fight so bad.....she would get it.

* * *

With a slight huff of effort, Kirara heaved a bale of rice onto her shoulder. It was heavy, but she could do it. The girl felt no need to bother anyone with it, and she steadied the parcel on her right shoulder.

Silently, a very certain someone made a beeline for her from behind a cluster of trees. Kirara heard nothing, and began walking, unaware that she was being followed by someone barely two steps behind.

"That's weird..." Heihachi looked up from his rice ball. Pointing, he got the others' attention. "Lookit."

"That can _not_ be good." Shichiroji commented. Some yards away, Kirara was walking with a bale of rice on her shoulder, Kyuzo right behind her.

"Why? Looks like they're getting along." Katsushiro got up with and began to walk towards them. "I'll go help."

He yelped as he was snatched by three pairs of hands all at once and yanked back.

"LISTEN to us!" Gorobei ordered. "Trust us on this, _do not go near that._"

"Katsushiro-kuuuuun, you'll die for sure!" Heihachi told the bewildered young man.

Kyuzo kept her eyes focused on the girl in front of her. She had still not noticed, and the taller woman took her time examining carefully the bundle of rice. Then, with a very wicked smile coming across her lips, Kyuzo determined her calculated target. With a nimble hand, she grasped the end of the string between her fingers.

The group of men were startled by a sudden shriek from Kirara as the entire bundle of rice came undone and spilled...everywhere.

"W...what did she...." Katsushiro stared, incredulous. "What did Kyuzo-dono do _that_ for?"

Kirara had no idea what happened, staring at the rice on the ground and very aware of the rice that had fallen its way uncomfortably into her clothes and hair. Whirling around, she suddenly found Kyuzo standing just behind her.

Kirara's face was completely blank, in a state of shock, until she noted the string still dangling between Kyuzo's fingers. Then a very deep scowl came onto her face, and she glared at the audacity of this woman, whose smirk made it all the more infuriating.

"_Why would you–!?"_

"Excuse me." Kyuzo interrupted her, "I don't know my way around sewing thread..._or_ string.."

Turning on her heel, Kyuzo strode away, pleased with the stunned look on Kirara's face, and apathetic about the very nervous faces witnessing, of course, her victory.

* * *

What Kirara did in retaliation could have been a death sentence.

Kyuzo was sitting on the steps, while several of the samurai loitered nearby, chatting. They expected, about as much as Kyuzo, that the door would suddenly open.

Kyuzo predicted even less that she was going to get doused from behind as Kirara emptied the bucket from the house.

Frozen in place, an extremely dark expression came onto the blonde's face. Drops of water dripped from her hair and off her chin, not even bothering to turn around. The others had, as before, instantly shut up.

"Oh, Kyuzo-dono!" Kirara poked her head out. "I'm so sorry about that! I was emptying the water from the flower pots..."

It seemed so, because some bits of grass and a wilted flower had somehow stuck onto Kyuzo's hair and coat. As she stood, she took a very deep breath and turned slowly to the priestess, who was giving her an innocent, doe-eyed look.

With a collective gulp, the rest of them remained still as statues, watching tensely.

"Don't mind it." Kyuzo said, surprisingly, and turned, walking elsewhere to dry off and likely plan her next attack.

* * *

As it turns out, "planning her next attack" was exactly what Kyuzo was doing. Her revenge came later that day.

Kirara hummed jubilantly as she shook out the robe of her cream white priestess outfit. She slid the wooden rod along the sleeves so it hung straight, and she placed it on the rack.

"Hey look, it's Kyuzo-dono!" Komachi shouted from atop Kikuchiyo's shoulder and pointed. Kirara turned to see the familiar red form walking nearby. "You should apologize for the water thing, right?"

Kikuchiyo added, "Hey, maybe you can give her coat a really good wash or something, you know, to say "sorry"?"

"She said not to mind it. And she's perfectly capable of cleaning her own coat if she wanted to." Kirara told her sister, "Unless, of course, she doesn't know _how_ to do laundry...."

At the side comment, Kyuzo stopped dead in her tracks. Kikuchiyo was laughing at the joke, but, predicably, Kyuzo ignored him. Or more, she had someone _else_ she was more intent on.

"Uh-oh...." Komachi covered her mouth with her hands. She became more nervous as Kyuzo changed course and came up to the pair of girls.

"But of course, you do know how to do laundry, yes, Kyuzo-dono?" Kirara asked.

A long moment went by, until Kyuzo gripped the handle of her sword. In a flash, she drew it and made a lightening-fast slash before she sheathed it again.

Blinking, confused, Kirara and Komachi didn't know what she had done. Until, of course, Kirara's robe suddenly fell, cleanly sliced in half, along with the rod it was on, to the floor with a clatter.

Kirara's mouth dropped open. She was deaf to Komachi's cries of how "amazing" that was.

"Woah, Kyuu, why'd you do that!?" Kikuchiyo boomed huffily. "She's going to have to sew that back together, you know!"

Kyuzo smirked, turned, and walked away. "Looks like I _don't_ know how to do laundry."

* * *

Angrily, Kirara kneeled on the floor of her house. She was furiously sewing her robe back together. It _had_ been a clean cut, so it wasn't difficult to simply fasten it back together. Of course, that meant she had to spend the time stitching the garment instead of doing the thousand other chores she had to take care of. As it was, she would barely finish in time to begin dinner.

"Kirara-dono..."

Her eyes snapped up at Katsushiro's voice as he cautiously entered.

"What is it, Katsushiro-sama?" She snapped, unable to check her frustration. The clipped words took her visitor off guard.

"Uh...." He frowned, wondering what happened to her robes. Until he recognized the mark of a sword cut, in which he was able to imagine the rest. "I just wanted to know..what exactly is happening between you and Kyuzo-dono?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know...why you two have been-AHH!"

Kirara looked up in surprise, to discover Katsushiro had disappeared, the flap still swinging back into place.

Having been yanked backwards and pulled out the door, Gorobei's hand was clutched over Katsushiro's mouth.

"_What_ did we _tell_ you!?" Shichiroji snapped and grabbed Katsushiro by the shoulders, the normally calm man shaking him slightly for emphasis. "Look at me, _look at me_, Katsushiro-kun."

When he was assured that Katsushiro's bewildered eyes were focused on him, he said, "Don't get involved. _Do not ask anything_. They'll never admit to there being a problem. It's all between them. I don't care if one of them is your would-be-girlfriend-if-she-hadn't-rejected-you-for-a-man-twice-your-age."

Katsushiro's face turned red. "She's not my–....wait...they're....fighting...over...Sensei?"

"Ding, ding, ding!" Heihachi clapped his hands. "You're a little late but it's okay."

Shichiroji sighed and released Katsushiro. "It's not really a secret, is it?...come on Katsushiro, all of us figured it."

Katsushiro's face was lit bright red...again.

"That lucky dog." Gorobei shook his head. "Most men would kill to have one woman, but to have_ two_ fighting over him...."

"And pretty _good_ women, if you ask me." Heihachi tapped his chin in thought. "But Kirara can cook rice, so I would go with her."

"Of course you would." Shichiroji gave him a flat look, but a smirk pulled at his mouth all the same. "The world doesn't begin and end with rice, Heihachi...."

* * *

The bout between the two women continued. Although no one would dare broach the subject with either of them around, they all found it a mixture of interesting, amusing, and worrying.

Kyuzo got a nasty surprise after a nap, when she drew her swords to practice, and found that tree sap had 'mysteriously' found its way inside the sheath, and entirely down the lengths of two blades. Not only did it take an amazingly long time to clean the swords themselves, but also the inside of the sheath, and spent the next day swatting off flies and other bugs attracted by the lingering sweet scent.

Kirara was not pleased to find that her beloved books, had, with surprising skill, had their covers undone and switched. Thus, she spend hours carefully untying the strings that held them together and trying to rematch each text with its respective cover. 'Whoever' had done it had been very good at tying very complex and tight knots, and by the end of it, Kirara's fingertips were rubbed red and sore, and the fury lingered on her face in such a way not even Komachi dared speak to her.

Kyuzo did not like the village children running up to her and following for almost three full hours begging for her to play with them, tugging at her coat and grabbing her hands, planting childish embraces on her legs and waist, because they had been told that actually, Kyuzo was a _very_ nice person once you got to know her, and she just needed some convincing. Not surprisingly, Kyuzo was not very fond of children, but had the control _not_ to smack them away, no matter how she wanted, and had to settle with repeating over and over that _she did not want to play._

Kirara was later heard screaming in terror at the angry family of raccoons that had somehow been trapped inside her house. By then, they were all extremely agitated and frightened at a sudden intruder, which was, of course, Kirara coming into her own home. (No one knew how Kyuzo managed that, and no one asked.)

Kyuzo then had to make do walking around for several hours with most of her bare legs showing. This was because while she had been bathing, 'someone' had snuck up and walked off with her pants. So a secretly very embarrassed woman had to wander around pulling her long undershirt down to her thighs, the rest of her legs still very much visible between the slits of the coat as she walked, until she found her pants hanging on a high tree branch. (She wouldn't dare climb up without them. Kyuzo had to go get Katsushiro to retrieve them for her.)

Kirara didn't think anything of Komachi running up to hear, pleased with a teruterubozu Heihachi had shown her how to make. She presented Kirara with a gift of another teruterubozu, that had been from Kyuzo-dono. However, she wasn't sure, as she told her wide-eyed sister, why Kyuzo had cut the head off and told the little girl to relay to Kirara the message that "samurai can do the same thing to people."

And so it went.

* * *

"You can't do anything about this, huh?" Shichiroji sighed.

"Do you think I'm mad enough to get in the middle of that?" Kambei answered with a smile.

His companion shrugged. "You're already in the middle of that, whether you like it or not."

"Technically, maybe, but I'm not getting involved." Kambei took a long drink from his cup, faintly wishing it were some sort of alcohol.

"See, Katsushiro-kun, not even _this_ lunatic would say a word to two fighting women." Shichiroji gestured grandly with both hands. "There's no hope of a man's victory there."

"Er...but shouldn't we do something? Shouldn't we try?" Katsushiro asked timidly.

"Ain't nothing you can do about it." Kikuchiyo told him. "Trust me on this."

"But it's gotten so...." Katsushiro searched for the right word.

"Oh yeah, they're going pretty far." Heihachi laughed. "Make no mistake. But those two are especially determined. Neither is going to back down."

* * *

And in fact, neither of them did. There seemed to be brief periods in which the fighting stopped, and in vain, the men hoped it was over. It always seemed as if it had been long forgotten, at least until it flared up again. And anything set it off again; a snide comment from Kirara, an especially dirty glare from Kyuzo, and they mentally groaned at the sound of the starting bells.

At one point, they were afraid it was bordering on violent. Of course, if it ever turned into a physical dispute, they were all fairly sure Kanna wouldn't welcome them any longer with the gruesome pummeling of their priestess. Or, even scarier, the possibility that Kirara would simply be 'spirited away'...

Of course, this all ended a few weeks later when Kambei blatantly announced his and Kyuzo's engagement. Not that it meant no hard feelings between the two women. In fact, it was obvious the very nasty grudge they were holding against each other.

But at least the fighting stopped.

Once, Kyuzo asked Kambei why he had chosen to ask her at this particular time, and announce it to everyone. Both of them, after all, valued their privacy.

"So you two would stop fighting. It was getting out of hand." Kambei chuckled.

It was a joke, but it didn't save the poor man from the dirty glare Kyuzo gave him, and it certainly didn't save him from a punch in the face. And no one was particularly surprised that Kambei was walking around for a few days with a black eye. They had already anticipated Kyuzo to be 'affectionate' in odd ways.

However, if they had known the circumstances, they probably would have admitted Kambei deserved that one.

And that is how the story of the (non-fanservice) catfight between Kyuzo and Kirara went.

Except, of course, for Kyuzo's bare legs. She didn't like this fanservice one bit. Other people did. But that is perhaps a story for another day.

* * *

Each time I read this story for editing purposes, it occured to me just how strange this got.

There's the Heihachi and Komachi making teruterubozus again...it was by accident. Actually, I began writing this before I started the next chapters of _An Encounter_, so...ah whatever.

I don't know why Kyuzo got so offended at Kambei's joke. I mean, if he decided he had to stop them by marrying one of them, that means he chose her anyway, right? :3....Well, actually, I could see where she'd get kinda touchy about that.


	2. Bathe!

In case no one caught on, and most people probably did, this title is a horrible joke off the title _What The Rain Said._ But...it sort of works, if you think about it in metaphorical terms.

* * *

Kyuzo was an impressive woman. She had mastered three languages, fought in two wars, helped to take down the Capital, protected Kanna against the nobuseri, served some of the highest lords, her skill earning her name prestige. She had come as close to perfect at honing her skill with her famous twin blades as anyone could hope for, she had killed countless people, scaled buildings with her bare hands, and was (secretly) able to play the shakuhachi. And all by the age of...well, Kyuzo hasn't provided her age. But readers can assume she would be considered 'young' to have achieved all this.

And yet, finally, Kyuzo the Swords(wo)man had met her match.

….Eh? No, not her husband.

Her impressive adversary came in the form of her four year old son, Hayato.

She had tried to be discreet, and prepared everything when he wasn't looking, but the second the child caught sight of his mother pulling out the washtub, he ran.

Catching his escape over her shoulder, Kyuzo sighed. This was never easy, but there was nothing she could do. The kid had to bathe.

So, mentally preparing herself for the new battle ahead, Kyuzo began her search. She had carefully locked all the doors and windows leading outside the house.

Kyuzo listened carefully for any sounds, footsteps, the jiggling of locked doors, anything. But the boy was being especially careful this time, and she heard nothing.

With another sigh, Kyuzo rolled up her sleeves and padded silently down the hall in her bare feet. Where were his favorite hiding places? Hayato liked, of course, to hide in small places, where his mother wouldn't be able to easily find him. She had secured the door to the cellar, and to the attic. He would surely try those first. In the past, they had been his default routes.

But she hadn't heard anything; he must have been clever enough to guess his mother would lock those doors. Weren't children supposed to be simple thinkers?

_The bedroom_...the thought struck Kyuzo, and she quickly ascended the stairs. Very simple. She walked into Hayato's room. She noticed his pillow was missing. What could that child have possibly done with it?

After checking the closet, checking the blankets, and inside the chests, she came up with nothing, and frowned.

Would he be daring enough to hide in his parent's room?

Deciding to check, Kyuzo proceeded to her and Kambei's room, and quickly made note of the bundle hiding under the sheets.

Quietly, she stepped over to the bed, and quickly snatched the lump with both arms.

Expecting a suddenly kicking and screaming child, she was instead greeting with...nothing.

Her expression suddenly turned sour.

At least she knew where his pillow had gone.

After irritably throwing the pillow back into her surprisingly crafty son's room and slamming the door, Kyuzo went downstairs again, and into the main living room. She was every bit as irritated about being tricked by her son as she was about having to commit to this chase every time she had to bathe him.

This was, of course, why she and Kambei took turns doing it. Neither of them liked this particular chore. And neither of them had the faintest idea what was so vehement to their son about bathing.

"Hayato." Kyuzo said once, firmly. She was about as verbal with her son as she was with everyone else. But the one-word command usually worked. Her son knew when his mother was being serious. He also knew to obey her.

But this time...nothing.

Kyuzo caught some movement above her, and her eyes widened at the sight of her son's foot poking out from the top of the highest bookshelf. How the _hell _did he even get up there!? Even Kambei had to strain to reach the top shelf.

Nonetheless, she wasted no time in pulling over a random box, stepping atop it, and was met with a childish cry of surprise when she suddenly popped up to greet him.

Kyuzo quickly grabbed him around the middle, and because it was a smooth surface, was able to simply slide him off.

Still, it didn't make this fight finished. Struggling to keep a firm grasp on him, Kyuzo raised an eyebrow at the dark mop of hair that almost touched his shoulders.

He needed a haircut, too.

She rolled her eyes.

…..Kambei could do that.

"Hayato!" She ordered, and he gave up, completely still in her arms.

She sighed with relief.

Unfortunately, too soon.

Hayato took advantage of the relaxed grip to slip out of it, and made a mad dash for the hallway.

Kyuzo, of course, took off after him. _Weren't children supposed to be SIMPLE thinkers!?_

Able to catch his left turn into the hallway, Kyuzo kept her eyes on him, and wondering why, at the doorway, he had jumped-

Now, Kyuzo only tripped perhaps once in a decade.

But her son had, somehow, in the time she had spent looking for him, managed to tightly adhere string to the doorway, to, say...about the height of Kyuzo's ankles.

Stumbling, Kyuzo caught herself on the opposite wall of the narrow hallway, and blinked for several moments, braced on her hands.

Curiously, she looked over her shoulder. Apparently, her son was perhaps somewhat precocious. Or a reincarnated ninja, as the author would suggest.

But she would have to dwell over this later, and instead continued her pursuit for her son.

Kyuzo headed to the front door, unlocking it and closing it securely behind her. She then leaped to the top of the porch's ceiling. She was certain the ruse would assure her son to run outside and try and escape while he thought his mother to be looking for him. She waited for him to exit the house, and was prepared to leap down and capture her target.

However, the surprise was Kyuzo's. Instead of running outside, Hayato came from around the corner of the house and slipped _inside._

Kyuzo blinked, staring after him. How and when did he get outside?

With a snarl of annoyance, she leaped down from the porch and ran back inside after him.

Quickly, she relocked the door behind her, and saw him run back into the living room. Chasing him, she sighed, annoyed, that he had crawled underneath the low table.

But this wasn't going to stop her.

There was a reason Hayato was especially frightened of his mother more than his father. And it would be an example that instead of demanding he come out, or even trying to grab him from the side, she simply fastened her hands on either side of the table and hauled it completely up and away from him.

Kyuzo glared down at her troublesome son, with the table hoisted above her head. Hayato stared in a mixture of disbelief and terror up at his mother.

"Hayato." She ordered, "You're. Bathing. Now."

Instead of bathing, of course, Hayato ran off down the hall again, and Kyuzo was (slightly) tempted to throw the table through the nearest wall instead of setting it back down. She fought this urge, and placed the furniture back into its original place.

But she heard the front door open again. Had she forgotten to lock it!?

_Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit._

Kyuzo sprinted down the hall, intent on catching him.

She ran so fast, upon turning the corner, she nearly ran into Kambei, who had just walked in.

Kyuzo blinked, and Kambei took in the sight of his frazzled wife, who noticed their son trying, in vain, to hide in his father's robe, his form clearly visible through the white coat.

"Bath time?" Kambei guessed, and Kyuzo frowned before she nodded.

"Hayato." Kambei sighed, and eased his son out from under his coat. "You need to clean."

"NOOOO!"

Oh, no, Kyuzo was not about to let the little bugger run off again, and when he tried, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, promptly threw him over her shoulder, and ignoring his childish pleas, strode, to Kambei's curiosity, out of the house.

"Kyuzo?" He called anxiously. "Where are you going?"

He received no answer, and followed.

As it happened, Kyuzo was taking Hayato to the yard. Kambei was a little surprised to have his son tossed into him from several feet away. Of course, he caught him, and the poor little boy clung to his father who had, actually, just proven to be no protection against his determined mother.

But he watched Kyuzo, frustrated, storm over to their well and began hauling up the bucket.

"Kyuzo?" Kambei lifted an eyebrow, and as Hayato calmed down, distracted at his father at the spectacle. Kyuzo finally pulled up the pail, and unceremoniously threw the entire container of water over father and son. Of course, it doused the both of them, and while his son lamented the cold shower, Kambei blinked the water out of his eyes and somewhere between amused and bewildered, saw his wife walk back into the house. When she reemerged, she threw a towel at him, and thrust a pair of scissors into Kambei's free hand.

"Done." She snapped. "Cut his hair."

And Kambei had no way to argue as his irate wife slammed the door behind her, neither in the mood to take the trouble to give Hayato a proper bath or help her husband with his new task. He sighed.

"Well." He set his son onto the ground and toweled the boy's hair off. "I guess you need a haircut."

"NOOOOOO!"

Kambei winced.

This was not going to be easy.

* * *

So maybe it's not the best chapter, but I hope it makes you chuckle a little.  
The name "Hayato", as I found it, was from "falcon" and "person". Falcon person?...Yeah.  
Why not? Ehehe.

That kid is pretty scary, when you think about it. He's pretty smart...but in Kyuzo's defense, who would be expecting all that?


	3. The Mystery

Katsushiro was not delusional. He knew he wasn't the most experienced samurai, and that he wasn't particularly the most knowledgeable or worldly among them. He had experienced many strange things while in Kanna, many life lessons he had learned well. Some were stranger than others.

Yet, there was a new mystery that had caused him complete puzzlement. What had bewildered him even more was that no one was commenting on this new phenomenon. No one had even seemed to acknowledge it. And the poor boy was thrown through a loop as to why the elephant in the room wasn't mentioned once by anyone.

Kyuzo, had somewhere along the line, decided to wander around in...considerably less clothing than she normally wore.

Now it wasn't that she had simply taken off some of it. When Katsushiro emerged from the house early that morning, still half asleep, he had caught sight of Kyuzo striding casually by.

And her entire wardrobe had been altered. Her coat had been hacked away at, perhaps by a madman tailor. The trails that always swayed majestically around Kyuzo's ankles instead, Katsushiro observed, barely covered her rear, flickering suggestively with the slightest breeze. She wasn't even wearing pants! Instead...she only wore stockings...and..was that a skirt under her coat?

And apparently, her coat collar had been tailored, and hung...quite low. Had she not been wearing the bodysuit, seemingly the only untouched article of clothing, the view would have been close to inappropriate. And her boots were much higher. How could she possibly fight like that? Speaking of which, as innocent as Katsushiro was, it was impossible to overlook the suddenly much more endowed figure Kyuzo was walking around with. Her proportions were near ridiculous, boasting a wider set of hips, a sharply dipped waist, and a larger much larger bust.

Was....was Kyuzo's disguise beforehand just that good?

He had rubbed his eyes, shaken his head, splashed his face with cold water, checked his temperature. But no, every time he saw Kyuzo, the image prevailed. It wasn't a mirage.

But why wasn't anyone saying anything!?

He tried approaching it first with Kambei.

"S...Sensei?"

"Yes, Katsushiro?"

"Um...about Kyuzo-dono..." Katsushiro fiddled with his fingers, unsure of how to ask the question without appearing either a pervert or an idiot. "Why is...Kyuzo-dono....?"

"Why is Kyuzo what?" Kambei asked casually. "Is something wrong?"

"Well...maybe...?" Katsushiro blinked awkwardly. "Why is she...dressed like that all of a sudden?"

"How do you mean?"

Katsushiro stared incredulously at his teacher. Yesterday, not one inch of skin besides Kyuzo's hands or face could be seen, and she was noticeably less....exaggerated in shape. How could Kambei of all people not notice?

Waiting patiently, Kambei seemed curious as Katsushiro stumbled for another way to get at his question. "I mean...where did her clothes go?"

Kambei gave him a puzzled look. "What are you talking about? She's wearing the same clothes she always wears."

"....No she isn't...."

* * *

Katsushiro decided to leave it alone for now, bewildered, until he came across Kyuzo. As she walked by, the wind blew, and even though he saw absolutely nothing, she gasped and smacked him across the face before she stormed off.

It had happened so quickly, Katsushiro's only response was to stare after her and rub his cheek.

* * *

Katsushiro was so confused. Kyuzo slapped him. She'd _never_ slap him. She'd punch, kick, strangle, or throw him, but she _slapped_ him? _Kirara_slapped. Kyuzo _punched_.

And she _gasped_? And for what was he to blame for anyway? He didn't see anything, he just happened to be looking in her direction, because, of course, he was wondering what the hell she was doing walking around like that.

Which begged his next question, why was he being punished because of that!? It was her own fault she was dressed like that to begin with!

The author tried to explain that wardrobe malfunctions in anime were very common, especially for female characters, even if the would-be male offender didn't actually catch them.

Katsushiro heard nothing, and headed instead for his next consultant.

"Kirara-dono, have you seen Kyuzo-dono today?"

"Hm?" Kirara had been sitting by the stream and dipping her feet into the water. "Yes, I've seen her. Why?"

"Well...why is she....."

Kirara blinked innocently, and when he trailed off, answered. "Oh. _That_....yes I know."

"You do?" Katsushiro sighed in relief. "What do you think caused this?"

"I'm not sure." Kirara offered, "She's never shown interest in cooking before, but she actually wanted to. I left her to prepare lunch."

Katsushiro appeared crestfallen. Cook? No, no, no, Kyuzo-dono didn't cook!

"Something the matter?" Kirara asked.

"She doesn't cook!" Katsushiro snapped defiantly, and the priestess was taken aback by his temper, staring as he continued, "I meant what she's wearing! Why is she dressed like that?"

"Dressed? Dressed like what?"

"What do you mean 'dressed like what'?" Katsushiro whined, "I meant, what happened to her normal clothes?"

"...Katsushiro-sama...she's wearing the same clothes she always does...."

"ARRGH!"

* * *

What had happened to everyone?

Katsushiro was quite distressed, sitting in the field and rubbing his temples. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked up at Heihachi, who tilted his head and commented, "You look pretty upset."

"Something wrong, kid?" Shichiroji seated himself on a stone a few feet away.

Katsushiro sighed. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to get help here either, but he asked, "Have you noticed something...strange about Kyuzo-dono today?"

"Kyuzo-dono?" Heihachi nodded. "Oh yeah. Something _is_ strange about her today."

"...R...Really!?" Katsushiro scrambled to his feet, excited by this turn of events. "Tell me! What's strange about her today? It's the way she looks, right?"

"Uh-huh."

Katsushiro sighed with relief. He _wasn't_ crazy. Someone else had noticed--

"Did her hair get longer?"

"...What?"

"I think so, too." Shichiroji remarked, "I guess her hair just grows fast. Hadn't noticed before."

"Her _hair?_" Katsushiro echoed.

Heihachi nodded, affirming, "It's not quite as...fluffy as before, either. Maybe because it grew longer?"

"..." Katsushiro nervously asked, "What about the way she's dressed?"

"What about the way she's dressed?"

"Are you blind?!" Katsushiro grabbed Heihachi by the shoulders and shook him. "Has _everyone_ in this village gone blind!?"

"K-Kat...Katsushir-...Katsushiro-kun!" It was a little difficult to talk while being shook, and Shichiroji stared, watching as Heihachi took hold of Katsushiro's wrists and pulled them off. He blinked a few times, a little dizzy, and told him, "You have to calm down. What's the problem?"

"Does no one see that Kyuzo-dono is wearing something completely different than she was yesterday!?"

Heihachi and Shichiroji glanced at each other before looking back over curiously at Katsushiro.

"...She is?"

"Doesn't look any different to me..."

".............."

"...Hey...what...hey! Katsushiro-kun! Don't bang your head into trees like that!"

"Think of the splinters, kid!"

* * *

"What's the matter with you?" Shichiroji, with both hands on Katsushiro's shoulders, led him to a low fence and sat him down. Heihachi appeared with a wet cloth to hand to Katsushiro, who, disgruntled, used it to wipe at the sore mark on his forehead. "You don't just slam your forehead into trees..."

Katsushiro mumbled, "Everyone's gone insane."

"Last I checked, you were the only one slamming his head into trees and shaking people." Heihachi plucked a leaf from Katsushiro's hair. "Maybe you've just been working too hard."

"That's not it!" Katsushiro protested. "Just, why is Kyuzo-dono suddenly walking around dressed and acting completely different? I mean, she doesn't cook or anything..."

"Of course Kyuzo-dono doesn't cook."

"...Really?" Katsushiro dared not hope for someone to come to their senses.

"Nope." Shichiroji sighed, then laughed. "She tries though."

"..." Katsushiro blinked.

"Earlier, she was trying to cook something for Kambei." Heihachi smiled and crossed his arms. "Cute, isn't it?"

"No. It's _not _cute!" Katsushiro stood up and threw the cloth onto the seat.

"What's wrong with her wanting to cook for him, again?" Shichiroji inquired.

"It's not possible! It's simply not like Kyuzo-dono at all to cook for sensei! She'd never do that! Ever! EVER!" Katsushiro yelled. "Why is she suddenly acting like this, and why is no one saying anything!?"

Wondering if Katsushiro had simply snapped, the two older men stared cluelessly at each other, then at their younger comrade as he continued ranting.

"Dressing like that is completely impractical, and not like her at all! And since when did she look like..._that, _anyway!? Sure, she wasn't _shapeless_, but she wasn't _so_..." Katsushiro couldn't find the right word, and skipped it, rambling, "And she'd never even try to cook! And she wouldn't slap me, she'd _punch_ me, and I didn't even do anything, either!"

".....Katsushiro...what are you talking about?"

"Forget it! Nevermind."

* * *

"Kikuchiyo-dono."

Katsushiro wasn't completely sure why he tried asking him. But if, for some reason, everyone else was set against pointing out the obvious, Kikuchiyo wasn't. He was of course, the most blunt and the most loud of all of them, and if he had noticed anything, he certainly wouldn't hide it.

"Hey Katsu...what happened to your head?" Kikuchiyo gestured at his own forehead.

"Never mind that." Katsushiro waved his hand, and cut straight to the point. "Have you noticed anything strange about Kyuzo-dono today?"

"Huh? Kyu-chan?" Kikuchiyo tapped his sword against his shoulder in thought. "Can't say I have."

"...You're kidding."

"Well...now that I think about it," Kikuchiyo told him, "Isn't it kind of weird that she's wearing that skirt?"

"Y...Yes!" Relieved, Katsushiro nodded, "Why is she wearing it?"

"I'm sort of curious as to how she can jump around like that and it always stays down." Kikuchiyo paid no mind to the stupefied expression on Katsushiro's face. "I mean, you'd think it'd fly up when she kicks at least, but somehow it always stays put. Maybe she somehow attached it to her leg?"

"..." Hopeless. Katsushiro walked away, his pace quickened and his posture tense.

"Where're you going?" Kikuchiyo asked.

"I've got someone to talk to." Katsushiro called back over his shoulder, his tone determined.

* * *

Katsushiro had decided to head to the source.

He searched the village, and came across a truly horrendous scene.

Kyuzo was....doing laundry.

She had her legs folded under her, and was scrubbing away at...

"....Is...is that...Sensei's coat?" Katsushiro asked timidly.

Paying him little mind, Kyuzo nodded.

"Kyuzo-dono!" Katsushiro snapped, horrified. Mildly surprised, the blond woman looked stoically up at him, and he had to note that her hair...did look longer. It looked longer than it was...this morning?

In a tone that was almost scolding, Katsushiro demanded, "What do you think you're doing?"

"...Laundry...." Kyuzo raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why? You should _never _be doing laundry." Katsushiro told her. Normally he'd never take a harsh tone with Kyuzo, but he was frustrated, and he had also grown impatient. And no boy who had a woman for a role model liked seeing her change this way, especially if said mentor was Kyuzo. This particular scenario was plain disturbing. "Since when did you do laundry, cook, and dress completely differently?"

Kyuzo glanced first at the coat in her hands, and then down at her own ensemble. "What's wrong with it?"

"....You...you just..." Katsushiro's voice broke, and he dropped to his knees, defeated. Quizzically, Kyuzo stared at him, blinked, then went back to washing the coat.

He watched helplessly, until a few minutes later, he inquired, "Kyuzo-dono, you feel alright, don't you? You're not sick, are you?"

Kyuzo shook her head.

"You didn't hit your head, did you?"

Kyuzo gave him a look, as if she wanted to ask him the same thing.

Giving up, Katsushiro got up and shuffled away, leaving Kyuzo to her....work.

* * *

Dispirited, Katsushiro groaned and sat down upon a log near the river.

"What's wrong, Katsushiro?"

"Gorobei-dono." The near frantic boy turned towards the entertainer. "I don't supposed you've noticed that Kyuzo-dono..."

He didn't hope for anything, of course, but was surprised when Gorobei rubbed his chin and replied, "That she's been completely different since last night?"

Unbelieving, Katsushiro's eyes widened. Could it be that someone had actually...?

Yet, he was wary. He had been fooled before. Cautiously, he inquired, "How so...?"

"Well, the clothes, or...lack of, the figure, the hair..._cooking?_ Doing _laundry?_" Gorobei listed, counting them off on his fingers, and Katsushiro wanted to scream with relief.

"YES! All of it!" He nodded enthusiastically. "Why has no one noticed?"

"I'm not sure." Gorobei sat down across from Katsushiro. "When I asked Heihachi-dono, he didn't seem to understand what I was asking."

"No one else said anything, right? They all thought I was nuts." Katsushiro prompted, "Gorobei-dono, what's happened here? How can we fix this?"

"Hmmm...." Gorobei thought long and hard. "I'm not sure what we _could_ do. We don't even know what caused this phenomenon. Unless we figure out how this happened, we can't do anything to correct it. And we can't keep it from getting worse."

….Getting worse? Katsushiro wondered how on earth it could get worse.

The author was beginning to think that if this was a full-blown parody at women in anime, she might as well take it all the way and start parodying otaku culture and moe as well. Which could mean excuses for pointless fanservice, with the thinnest reasoning possible given for nurse uniforms, maid outfits, school girl uniforms, cat ears-

These thoughts suddenly came into Katsushiro's head in the form of images, and he screamed. Gorobei, startled, watched as Katsushiro proceeded to slam his head into the log he was sitting on.

"I'm not sure you should do that...." Gorobei winced. "Katsushiro, calm down...we'll figure it out..."

"...None of it...please....." Katsushiro sat up, looking in some serious pain. "Gorobei-dono, we have to stop her!"

"Stop Kyuzo-dono?"

"No! Not Kyuzo-dono!"

".....Then who?"

"She's getting out of control!" Katsushiro insisted. "We have to make sure none of it happens! Not the uniforms, or the cat ears, none of it!"

"Cat ears? What cat ears, and what uniforms?"

Little did Katsushiro know this wasn't something that needed to be stopped. The author was in fact lying face-down on her desk, unable to cope with the results of her own imagination, or the imagery Katsushiro had just experienced. And she needed no persuasion that Kyuzo should never be seen in any of those. This was stretching the limit.

* * *

Deciding there was nothing they could do right at the moment, Katsushiro and Gorobei gave up for now, and the rest of the day passed by uneventfully.

The next day, Katsushiro got up as normal, and as he stepped out the door, caught sight of Kyuzo...

….exactly as she always was.

Her long coat was back, her hair clipped, her pants ensuring absolutely no skin showed through, no skirt, and her normal boots, and of course, her natural figure.

He stared as Kyuzo walked by, apparently on the way to the stream to wash her face. When she disappeared behind the trees, he caught Kambei coming out of the house behind him.

"Sensei," Katsushiro asked, "She's....Kyuzo-dono is...normal again."

"I'm not sure you could call Kyuzo 'normal'," Kambei commented. "But what do you mean?"

Katsushiro, apprehensive, decided to test this development. "She doesn't cook for you, does she?"

"I'm fairly certain Kyuzo has never cooked in her life." Kambei told him.

"And...your coat." Katsushiro asked, "Did she wash it yesterday?"

Kambei chuckled. "She's come much closer to cutting it to ribbons than washing it. I don't think I could trust her with that."

"...." Katsushiro was still feeling slightly anxious. "And...do you think if she thought I saw under her underclothes, that she'd slap me?"

Kambei frowned. "When did you see her undress?"

"I didn't!" Katsushiro reassured him. "I'm just asking, if she thought I did, would she slap me?"

Accordingly, he hadn't heard Kyuzo come back, because when does anyone hear Kyuzo do anything? And he found himself grabbed by the collar, and pulled around, forced to look her in the face. It wasn't a happy face. It was an angry face.

"When." Kyuzo repeated lowly, narrowing her eyes.

"Never!" Katsushiro gulped. "I've never seen you undress!"

Kyuzo stared him down, searching for lies. She eventually decided to let him go, but only after giving him a threatening punch in the stomach that left him doubled over onto the ground as she stalked away.

Kambei felt no need to punish Katsushiro for, well, probably nothing, especially since Kyuzo had already made the lesson very clear.

"Katsushiro...are you alright?"

"Just...fine..." Katsushiro gasped.

* * *

Katsushiro never did figure out exactly what had happened. And neither did Gorobei. They had discussed it between them, and couldn't comprehend the situation. They also had no idea of why no one had absolutely no memory of the day before, except for that they suspected Katsushiro had a fever or something.

And if Gorobei hadn't remembered it all with him, Katsushiro might have believed them. But, unfortunately, it was a great mystery that would likely never be solved.

* * *

Obviously, this is a parody of women in anime. It doesn't take much more explanation that that. Because in plenty of anime and manga, the women are prone to running around in revealing clothes, even fighters like Kyuzo, when there's no reason or practicality to. And all the males act casual about it, and it doesn't matter how short the skirt, they always seem to stay down. If Kyuzo had been a female, I wouldn't think she'd have been given the exact same outfit. So there we go. Typical clothes for a typical anime woman.

By the way, when your hair is short, it does get...bigger. I know because I have flat hair that used to be very long, and when I cut it, it suddenly got more volume. The weight, I guess. Strange.

Parody sketches related to this story will be put up soon :)


	4. The Battle

Once upon a time, there was a girl and a boy. The boy's name was Heihachi. The girl's name doesn't matter, because she's completely irrelevant to the story other than for setup purposes.

Anyhow. The girl liked the boy, and the boy liked the girl back.

Except, they were not a 'girl' or a 'boy' in the technical sense, because Heihachi was closer to thirty than twenty, and it can be assumed said 'girl' is of appropriate age to be with a twenty six year old.

Heihachi, being the very lighthearted and overall caring person that he is, began to perform acts of affection, which people would call 'romantic'. He chopped wood for her, repaired things around her home, and fixed her water mill. She made him rice, and as far as he was concerned, this was all he could ever need.

It was about this time that Kyuzo decided it was time to begin showing 'affection' towards Kambei. Of course, she could not cook or clean, couldn't sew, and would never voluntarily perform these homely, 'wifely' acts to save her life anyway.

So the only logical way, Kyuzo reasoned, was to destroy nobuseri.

Every now and then, Kyuzo would be seen walking through the village dragging behind her a smoking Yakkan unit, or a completely broken Tobito. She dropped it at their doorstep and leaned against the wall, waiting for Kambei to receive his token of affection.

Kambei had absolutely no idea how to respond to this. Truly, he didn't. It was like a cat bringing in a dead bird. He would stand, stare at the heaps of useless metal, and awkwardly thank her. It seemed to satisfy Kyuzo, who would give a half smile, half smirk, and walk away satisfied, leaving Kambei with his odd gift.

Most of these odd gifts would eventually fall into Heihachi's hands, because he, of course, could use the metal. And it didn't seem to matter, because after she delivered the gift, Kyuzo never asked about them again. She didn't seem to care farther than knowing Kambei accepted her affections.

* * *

One day, Heihachi began building his own machines with the parts and metal he could salvage with the Kyuzo-killed nobuseri. He was quite happy about it, and the girl was very delighted. He loved building them, but also loved building them for the sake of making her happy.

….Then there came the problem.

Through many hours of labor and toil, Heihachi successfully built the Samurai 7 world's first Gundam. It was a strange sight.

He proudly presented his work to the others, who were utterly amazed at the sheer size of the unit, towering nearly fourty feet high. Heihachi was just that skilled.

However, within seconds, it all became dismantled and Heihachi's face dropped as Kyuzo effortlessly felled it to the ground.

"K...Kyuzo-dono!" Heihachi yelled, in disbelief. "Why'd you do that!?"

Kyuzo appeared to have no sympathy for this, and although she couldn't drag this particular thing to Kambei's doorstep, her motivations were quite clear as she snuck a smirk in his direction.

"....Thank you?" Kambei offered, and pleased, Kyuzo strode away.

Heihachi ranted to himself, angry, and finally told Kambei, "Tell your girlfriend to stay away from my machines!"

Not that Kambei, or anyone else, could blame Heihachi for being upset, as the little fellow walked off to go fix his Gundam.

* * *

This is not the end of the story!

Actually, a war had begun with the most unlikely contestants, for the unlikeliest reasons. Both were striving to impress their significant other, and it quickly became a vicious cycle.

Heihachi showed the girl how much he cared for her by building her massive mechas, and Kyuzo would express her affection for Kambei by dismantling them.

And every time Heihachi finished one of these robots, he would promptly order Kyuzo to "stay the hell away from it".

Every time, Kyuzo nodded, seemingly in agreement, and every time it appeared sincere. But by the next morning, it was in ruined pieces all over the ground again, and Heihachi would groan and slap his forehead with the palm of his hand.

"Kyuuzzzooo-doonnoo!"

"What?" She asked innocently, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Stop destroying my machines!" Heihachi demanded.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, real mature, Kyuzo-dono." Heihachi pouted. "Just pretend you don't know what I'm talking about....look, just stop wrecking them! Find more nobuseri or something, but just stop wrecking my work!"

"What nobuseri?" Kyuzo sighed. "They're all gone. Haven't seen one in days."

"...Can't you be a little more normal," Heihachi asked, "And just...I don't know, give him a gift?"

"I _am_." Kyuzo said matter-of-factly.

"I mean a _normal_ one." Heihachi snapped. "Like...make him dinner or something?"

"Never." Kyuzo hissed.

Everyone watched anxiously as Kyuzo and Heihachi glared at each other.

"Hours. _Hours._" Heihachi told her, "All my work _gone_ in _minutes_, for hours of work. Don't touch it!"

Kyuzo raised an eyebrow, and challenged, "_Make me."_

Heihachi stared at her. Everyone was pretty sure they knew how this was going to turn out. There was no making Kyuzo do anything she didn't want to.

Until, well, Heihachi smiled and crossed his own arms, mimicking Kyuzo's pose, and said, "I'm going to talk about _it_. A lot."

"....?"

Heihachi smirked. "About how you _love_ him."

This was no surprise to anyone. Everyone was pretty sure of the relationship between Kambei and Kyuzo. But they gasped nonetheless. Acknowledging it on a verbal level was completely off limits around Kyuzo.

Kyuzo's eyes widened, then narrowed.

"Oh, that's right." Heihachi nodded affirmingly. "I'll walk around repeating it over and over again, that _Kyuzo loves Kambei._"

Kyuzo's face began to turn red, a very dangerous expression shadowing her face.

Heihachi taunted. "Kyuzo and Kambei, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in the baby carriage."

Kyuzo was positively fuming. No one dared laugh or make any sort of comment. Her eyes were fixed on Heihachi, who showed no signs of relenting. In truth, they were very fearful for Heihachi's life.

And, accordingly, Kyuzo drew her swords.

"Oh, sure." Heihachi laughed. "Take out your swords. Because you simply _must_ show off your skills for your boyfriend."

Kyuzo twitched, then proceeded to do something no one had ever seen.

She threw her swords to the side. Instead of butchering Heihachi with her katanas, she cracked her knuckles, quite ready to pummel Heihachi with her own fists.

"Fine, then." Heihachi removed his own sword, and challenged as he flexed out his shoulders, "Come on, Kyuzo, _make me_ stop telling them that you _love Shimada Kambei."_

* * *

As could be imagined, this didn't end particularly well.

Shichiroji sighed and pressed a cold cloth to Heihachi's black eye. Across the room, Kambei was bandaging a scrape on Kyuzo's arm.

"I can't believe you two are being so immature." Kambei remarked.

"He/She started it." The two of them snapped in unison, shot a glare at the other, and turned back the other way.

Kambei and Shichiroji sighed an exchanged a weary glance. Kyuzo was moody enough, but Heihachi apparently had quite the temper himself.

"You're just bitter because you can't cook rice for Kambei." Heihachi muttered.

"...." Kyuzo lifted her eyebrow before retorting, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Okay, then you're bitter that Kambei can't cook rice for you."

"...That's the second dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Fine, deny it." Heihachi stuck out his tongue. "But stay away from my machines from now on."

"You can't make me."

"Hmph."

* * *

There might be a second part to this one, because obviously it's inconclusive. I'm not sure it's a chapter that really needs concluding, it's just...weird. Don't take it seriously, at all. Especially considering both Heihachi and Kyuzo are pretty OOC.

Once again, this came from another conversation between me and Citizen Cobalt 1. :3


	5. I Sing with Silence

Holii crap.  
I finished this, and forgot to post it on FFN.

(Probably because the only two people that normally read/comment have seen it now.)

Oh well, I post now!  
Warning:....It's not happy D:

* * *

Brilliant crimson light of the sunset poured over the land. Ruby beauty spilled across the fields, the meadows and a wide river.

Yet what ran red in the water was not the trickles of red sunlight playing on the surface's reflections; it was blood. And it was blood that stained the earth dark, poured over grass and blanketed mangled bodies and dried wounds, and created rusty patterns upon exposed skin.

It had been the first major battle of the Great War. Countless corpses lay scattered over the field, some in unorganized piles, some limp as though simply in slumber. Severed limbs and extricated insides were strewn randomly, discarded and forgotten save the crows and scavenger animals that crawled from the forest. Their calls sang of death.

With dull eyes whose glint, at the moment, had been replaced by the reflection of the bloodied sun, she stood with her shoulders slumped and her back bent in a wary arch. Her mouth was pursed, and she pulled her cloak closer about her shoulders as the boiling fury from the battle slithered into the cool of the melancholy night.

Kanon heard her alias called, and turned slowly, boots shuffling softly. Upon seeing the face of her commander, she bowed her head slightly in respect. From behind the man, there were the eerie, jerking movements of the injured and those who helped them. Several frantic medics raced back and fourth. Even further behind them, their large aircraft was the backdrop to the hysteria of the humans beneath the vessel's looming shadow.

"Are you injured?"

Kanon automatically clutched the gash in her side. At her commander's notice, she muttered in a low pitch, "It's not serious."

"Go get treated." Her commander told Kyuzo, "Then I want you to go collect bodies from our army."

"I....." She couldn't risk letting someone treat her, lest her secret be exposed. Kanon wasn't sure if she should protest at all. But at her commander's weary face, she continued, "It can wait. I'll find bodies now."

* * *

Kanon, christened 'Kyuzo', half-dragged her worn body through the clusters of forsaken lives. Her limbs ached, her muscles throbbed, her skin shivered unexpectedly. Despite the scorching ache that crept like a parasite through her skin, her spine felt cold, the hair on the back of her neck still rising. All over, she was lacerated or bruised somehow, and although there were multiple splatters of blood over her clothes and face, she had yet to distinguish what was hers and what was that of an enemy's who she had slaughtered.

Heavy breaths came between her parted and chapped lips. She came upon the river, and took several moments to take several desperate gulps of water. The drops that slid from her lips like tears, she wiped off with the back of her wrist as she stood. Around her, many uniforms dotted the landscape, some of the enemy's olive green, and the rest of her comrades' navy blue.

She kept her feet from dragging as best as she could, and began her gruesome task.

Coming to the first body closest her, Kanon knelt in the dirt. Her master had instructed to check the pockets of fallen soldiers. They could have valuables useful to her. Slowly, her fingertips wrapped around the flap of the fallen samurai's pocket. Kanon then tentatively released it.

She would not, could not, take from the deceased.

Instead, she flipped the corpse over onto his back, the face of the dead boy's eerily close in age to hers. Slowly, the girl dragged it to the spot where the bodies were being collected. Already a morbid pile of dead flesh had accumulated.

The medics and other soldiers paid little mind to 'him', as Kanon rested the boy's corpse onto the ground.

"Kyuzo."

Kanon looked up to the medic who approached 'him'. Catching sight of the young samurai's face, the physician halted for a moment. Why, Kyuzo never really found out; she couldn't recall what her face might have looked like.

Nonetheless, the medic said, "The commander told us you've be injured. Come get treated first."

"Later." Kyuzo argued.

"Don't fight me here," The medic attempted to give his voice power. However, given the trials of the day, the mock strength withered as he spoke. "Just get some treatment. You'll collapse of fatigue."

"I won't." Kyuzo assured.

They stared at each other. The medic studied the young warrior's face thoroughly; Kanon refused to turn away, his eyes worn, yet placid, and steady.

"Fine." The doctor gave in with a slight sigh and turned, calling back over his shoulder, "Just don't let your bodies be one of those they drag back here."

* * *

Almost an hour later, Kyuzo was still pulling at mangled, cold corpses. In the cases where one still had warm blood, signaling their very recent passing, her hands momentarily froze upon the limp flesh. She then continued, dragging the unfortunate souls to their pitiful, albeit temporary, graveyard.

The sun had begun to set, and the blood red day just began to envelop the world in its twilight end. Kyuzo gazed, out of the corner of her ruby eye, the darkened horizon. Was that the oncoming night, or approaching storm clouds?

Her shoulders fell limp, and she let out an exasperated sigh. The darkened circles under her eyes spoke to the weariness in her body. In her eyes, a fire still flickered, yet was left in slumbering embers. How many more bodies would she carry....?

Each time, she had to drag the bodies further and further back. As she cleared the ones closest to their site, she then had to travel more to retrieve their comrade's corpses.

Boots trailing in the dirt, scraping over grass, rocks, bones, Kanon's shaking fingers (from exhaustion, from nerves, she didn't know anymore) weakly grasped her cloak and again hauled it closer around her shoulders.

It was beginning to get cold.

As she stepped, something nearby caught her attention. It caused her to stop in her tracks, and force her fatigued-racked mind to attention. Breaking into haste, she knelt again, and her hands, forgetting their tiredness, curled around the enemy's green uniform and examined the design on the chest.

Her eyes widened.

There was no mistaking her family's crest.

But then, surely....

That meant....

Kanon eased the head to point the face upwards, as the figure lay flat on his back. Carefully, she eased her fingers beneath the face mask, and pulled it off in one quick swipe.

Indeed, it was what she feared.

As she stared, her brother's lifeless face watched her.

_Yuuma...._

It had been years since she had seen him...but there was no mistaking...

Kyuzo wasn't quite sure how long she sat there staring at her dead brother's face. Briefly, her eyes flickered to the gaping wound in his side. Several other serious slashes lacerated his body; he had been disabled by one and thrashed by the rest....likely, he had fallen against multiple attackers.

"Kyuzo."

Pulled out of her daze with a small flinch, she pulled the mask back down over her brother's face so it wasn't seen. They too clearly resembled one another.

Her fingers brushed against his face, and the skin contact chilled down to her very bones.

She glanced over her shoulder at one of her comrades, Hiraku. He was a disciplined young man several years her elder. He appeared to have escaped the battle with less injuries than her.

"Is that one of ours?"

"No." She replied swiftly, and stood to face him.

Despite his own weariness, the man's dark, terse eyes bore into Kyuzo's averted gaze. Thoughtfully, he questioned, "Someone you know?"

"No."

"Alright then. The commander wants us to come back for today." He instructed and turned, expecting her to follow.

Still, he stood rooted to the spot. After distancing himself several paces, he looked back over his shoulder.

"Kyuzo? Something wrong?"

"...." Kanon shook her head.

"Come along then." Hiraku told him. "It's not been an easy day. Let's go rest. We could certainly use it."

He turned back to continue walking. At first, he thought Kyuzo hadn't until he heard the shuffling of boots following him.

* * *

This is probably the first of a two-parter.

Hope you enjoyed the change of pace from the comical extras :)


	6. What I see in the Silence

This has actually turned into a three-part sequence.  
I'm beginning to really like Yuuma. Shame he dies, right? ;_;

Enjoy ^^

* * *

"Kanon..."

Upon being called, she looked up from where she sat. Yuuma approached her.

Stopping a few feet from her, he noted the bundle of cloth in her lap. His sister quickly bunched it between her hands to hide it from his sight. His mouth quirked in a restrained smile. Despite their mother's insistence, she hated needlework.

"Come to the market with me?" He asked with a light tone.

Kanon quirked an eyebrow at him, tilting her head questioningly.

"I'm sure you'd be glad to get out of here for a while." She was already rising to her feet as he spoke, and he chuckled. Apparently she needed no convincing, and she swiped the detested cloth to the floor upon which she had sat.

* * *

Among the busy streets of the city, the pair walked together, silently. The shuffling of Yuuma's straw sandals contrasted with the hollow clacking of Kanon's shoes upon the hard dirt street, drowned out among the bustle of the surrounding citizens.

Kanon's silent manner was typically off-putting to most people who had to encounter her. Yuuma seemed to be the exception. The brother seemed unfazed by his nearly wordless sister. Although no one would describe their behavior as 'close', she seemed tolerant of him, her temper less volatile with him than with others.

Indeed, she followed him without so much as an inquiry as to where they were headed.

It was spring, and it was warm, the sunlight soft as it poured upon the city today. It was almost midday as Yuuma led Kanon to the blacksmith's. As he stepped inside to find his usual, Kanon opted to stay at the doorway. With a quick glance over his shoulder at her sudden halt, Yuuma then proceeded to chat with the men seated inside; some were warriors who lounged around waiting for the work to be done on their weapons, and other the members of the guild who worked or took breaks.

Standing at the threshold, Kanon swept her sharp eyes around the room inside. They came to rest on the impressive weapons mounted upon the wall or piled in storage containers. She largely ignored the men inside, and for the most part they ignored her. After her curiosity was sated, she then went back to watching the streets.

Finding the man he was looking for, Yuuma gave him a smile and a polite greeting.

"Jiro-san," He received a friendly gesture in return as he drew his katana from his belt. "I'm going to require your services again."

"No problem for me." Jiro laughed heartily and carefully took the weapon in hand and took to inspecting it. He peered past the young man and noted the girl standing by the doorway. "Is that your sister there?"

At being addressed, Kanon turned her face inward again, and noted the curious faces gazing back at her. It wouldn't be a stretch to say she felt uncomfortable; nonetheless, Kanon's proud shoulders didn't drop as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Yes." Yuuma confirmed. "That's my younger sister Kanon."

"Really?" Jiro inspected her from afar. "How old is she?"

"Thirteen."

"Thirteen!? I don't believe that, Yuuma-sama."

"She is..."

"She's tall for her age...."

"She is..."

"Kinda pretty."

"She is..."

Kanon bristled slightly. The hostility that came off her was subtle, and not quite threatening enough to deter the looks that were directed at her. It annoyed her, and her strong gaze only sharpened, and she pointedly ignored the leering men.

Seeing that she wasn't going to actually be personally addressed, Kanon turned back out to the street, stepping outside and leaning against the wall.

* * *

Having left his sword with the blacksmith, Yuuma temporarily slipped into its place a substitute, and continued walking with Kanon. He noticed that his sister actually rose above his shoulder; how tall _was_ she?

She was, as always, quiet. Somewhat unexpectedly though, she muttered, "They were staring at me."

Yuuma caught the indignation in her tone, and tried to assure her, "It's because I've never brought you with me there before."

She opened her mouth to say something else. Apparently, however, she changed her mind and pursed her lips instead.

Eventually, Yuuma stopped at a vendor to purchase some dumplings. As they crossed over a bridge, he handed one of the small boxes to Kanon, and leaned against the wooden fence. Beside him, she leaped atop the fence, causing a passerby to gasp at first, and sat cross-legged upon the narrow ledge. Several people stared. Kanon paid little mind to them. Yuuma paid little mind to her, flipping open the top of the container.

"Don't fall." He said absentmindedly, but knew she wouldn't.

With her dress draping over her folded legs and flapping gently in the breeze, Kanon picked up the first dumpling with her chopsticks.

A few minutes went by, and Yuuma leaned back, his elbow atop the railing, and popped another dumpling in his mouth. With a tone between longing and defeat, he drawled, "I wish you didn't resent me."

Blinking in curiosity, Kanon ducked her head down to peer at her brother. She searched his face, his averted eyes, then straightened her back before replying, "I don't resent you."

"Do you really not?" Yuuma stole a glance at her face.

She shook her head, and he quirked an eyebrow.

"I think you're lying. Not even a little?"

Taken aback, Kanon chewed slowly. Resent him....? "I don't."

"Hm." Yuuma plucked another dumpling from the box.

Kanon frowned slightly, but said nothing.

* * *

Later that evening, the chirps of the cicadas muted Kanon's footsteps. She strode through the air of dusk, illuminated only by glimpses of light from the small torches mounted to the outside of the porch's support pillars and the fading glow of the sky. Her shoes left barely any mark on the earth, soft from last night's rain, and the sweet clean scent lingered, rising from the earth and the lush foliage that grew around the manor's land.

In her slender hand was the sword with which she practiced with. The teacher whom her father had hired for her had just left. She glanced around to make sure no one was around, then lay down on her back on the wooden porch, the sword by her side. Knees bent and feet flat, Kanon crossed her arms behind her head to rest on them. If caught like this, she would have been scolded.

But she hardly cared, and nearly dozed off at the lullaby of the nearby cicadas, until the sound of hollow footsteps on the wooden floor alerted her. Quickly, she sat up. Propped up on her elbows, she was just in time to catch Yuuma sitting as well, with his legs over the side of the ledge.

They looked so much alike; the same blonde hair, the same red eyes, the same alabaster skin, and the same slender frame. Yet their manner was of such striking comparison, it was difficult to imagine them to be related. While Yuuma's face was humble, genuine, his sister's remained striking, intense.

She watched him. Her curious eyes flickered about his semi-visible face, searching for clues. People often complained she was enigmatic; yet she wondered how no one seemed to acknowledge the air of mystery that surrounded the first child.

"Kanon." Yuuma said absently. She gave a small utterance of acknowledgement, and he asked carefully, as though he were about to begin treading a very feeble bridge, "What makes you unhappy?"

"Unhappy?"

"Yes."

A moth fluttered across her field of vision, and she gazed at it, as it flew, predictably, to hover about one of the small flames above her head.

"Am I unhappy?" She inquired.

"Are you?"

He was looking at her now. She stared back at him. In that moment, she felt as though she could have been meeting him for the first time. There was a solemnity in his eyes she hadn't seen before.

"Yuuma, why would I be happy?" Kanon challenged, her words clipped and her tone icy.

He chuckled. Usually, she kept herself under control around their parents. Once in a while her indifference would slip in lieu of that frustration he glimpsed at now, and it usually got her scolded.

"Why, indeed." Yuuma wondered aloud, almost to himself. He turned, resting one leg on the porch floor, so he might look at her better. Curious, she watched him, but leaned back against the floor as she did, the back of her head resting on her bent elbows. He continued with a quiet utterance, "Sometimes I wonder why you've been born here."

She frowned. It was difficult to tell for her if he was mocking her or not. "Don't tease me."

"I'm not." Amused affectionately by her temper, he shrugged his shoulders to show that he meant no offense. "It's just that you seem so...bored."

"Bored?"

He nodded. She considered this carefully. The expression in her eyes exhibited her unspoken agreement, and Kanon closed them.

"Don't fall asleep."

"I won't."

"If you do...I'll tickle you."

Her eyes snapped open, and she glared at him, as if he had said something vulgar. Yuuma only laughed. "Trying to be cute with you doesn't work, does it?"

"You're not cute." Kanon snapped.

"Well...neither are you." Yuuma confessed.

"I don't care."

"I know you don't."

Kanon's glare didn't falter, and she only frowned deeper at Yuuma's visibly restrained laughter.

"I didn't mean that in an insulting way, just so you know." He assured her. "I only meant that you don't fit into that role."

"I already said I didn't care." Kanon told him, and closed her eyes again in a show of apathy. However, the frown still evident in her features, the tensed muscles, were proof of her lingering irritation.

Yuuma looked out to the yard. Without any eyes on him right now, he felt more at ease. Or more, he could allow the relaxation to show in his face. It had been remarked, not always fondly, that his face was too amicable. His sister was the fierce one, not him. Her elusive manner made her seem non-confrontational; but he knew she could be impressively bold if she felt the need to. Kanon's silence, he observed, was from a naturally withdrawn personality, coupled with annoyance that she preferred to avoid. It was far from shyness. It wasn't sweetness.

When he looked back over to his sibling, he noticed her half-opened eyes. For once, she appeared to be calm.

Although his wish wasn't to provoke her out of precious relaxation, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He pulled back, and she shot up so quickly that had he been any slower their heads would have smashed together.

Indignantly, she clasped one hand to her forehead, and stared at him, stupefied. For once, she appeared speechless from a complete loss of words, before she half-growled, half-yelped, "What was _that?_"

Yuuma smiled. "It was a kiss on the forehead, Kanon. No need to be so startled."

Annoyed, she wiped at her forehead and glanced at her hand, as if she expected there to be evidence of some sort of toxin. Then, she leaned back on her extended arms, elbows locked, and frowned at him again.

Since she appeared to be asking for explanation, Yuuma simply shrugged as an answer. He felt no desire to elaborate, and once he shifted his back to Kanon again, she gave up expecting one.

Behind him, he heard the girl stand and walk away. Softly, the door to her room clacked shut. He did not look over his shoulder, but instead to the waning moon.

* * *

Oh, and, that kiss? Not incestuous at all.  
Just felt that needed to be said. :]


	7. The Threshold

Because night was changing into day, the winds were changing too.

Nearby, a dog barked, a cat wailed, and the koi fish in the pond scattered at the pounding vibrations of footsteps. Although no one was awake yet, and no one could hear it, the breeze whistled a different hymn this early morning.

Hurriedly, Kanon half-ran along the porch, bare feet slapping rhythmically, softly, on the freshly cleaned wood, recently polished, reflecting her likeness in an earthy hue, disappearing as she ducked into her empty room, only pausing to glance about her surroundings, making certain no one saw her. Shifting a wrapped bundle under her arm, she slid the door to a hollow wooden clack, closing it behind her.

Several minutes later, she reemerged, arms unburdened, proceeding to another door down the hall. Kanon walked silently, carefully, on the front of her feet, her footprints invisible as a cat's, and with nimble fingers she opened the the nearly holy air, cooled by the night and laced with a faint scent of incense, brushed upon her face.

It was the dojo. The wooden floor reached far back into the huge room, the dim light of a small torch behind her sliding into pitch black shadows. Overtaken by a private reverence, she had to steel her nerves before stepping inside, onto the scene of the some of the only colorful memories for her.

Kanon's bare feet me the other side of the threshold. Her sentimentality was cast aside, and she again took up a swift pace, staight for the front of the room. When she came closer to the alter, with a lit candle her only guiding light, the floor switched into tatami mats; any sound she was making muted insantly.

With slender fingers, she, with a graceful gesture, slid a tanto knife from the rack, a small one in a wooden sheath intended for concealment. One wouldn't be missed; they had a large assortment and many spots on the racks were empty, their respective weapons either being fixed or replaced. Temporarily stashing it into her sleeve, she then left.

Afterwards, the girl slipped back into her bedroom. Quietly retrieving the tanto she had filched from her sleeve, she set it upon the dresser.

From the closet, she withdrew the package she had come in with, messily wrapped in dusty canvas and tied in a lopsided knot of twine. She quickly undid it, kneeling on the floor and sitting on her ankles. Unfurling a cut off pair of men's trousers and shirt, both old and worn, she inspected them with a sweep of her eyes. They brimmed with energy, her lips pursed for possibly the first time in anxiety.

But she wasn't much a person for hesitation, so Kanon swiftly pulled off her sash and her kimono, letting both drop down to pool around her ankles. Quickly changing into the ragged but clean set of clothes. They fit, and were, she found, comfortable. It was almost a shame to her, needing to redress in the kimono. She considered forgetting the disguise, and simply leaving as was. Yet her reasoning gave her no room for the thought, and she reluctantly pulled on her robe again.

The tanto was relieved of its sheath. She spread the canvas out, and knelt before it. Hunched over it, Kanon took a section of her long hair into hand, and with a decisive stroke of the blade, sheared it off.

Just as Kanon reached for the next section of hair, a gentle knock outside her door caught her attention. Petrified, she looked up at the soft call, "Kanon? I'm coming in..."

The word "wait" should have come. Yet she sat on the floor dumbfounded as the door slid open. Yuuma came in to find his sister frozen in place with a handful of hair in one hand and the knife in the other. Upon the floor was already a severed coil of the sacrificed hair.

His expression became as blank in shock as hers. Yuuma had several false starts at speaking, and upon the third failed attempt, awkwardly cleared his throat. He sighed and pursed his lips, much like how she did.

"Kanon..? What are you....." Yuuma's voice trailed off, his words falling and fading into the floor.

"...." She blinked, and eased her hands down to the floor, attempting to pull together a strong face. Her tone betrayed the facade, as she stuttered, "I....I hate my hair long."

"...." He tilted his head curiously, as if he had been provided a puzzle.

Meanwhile, Kanon quietly slipped out of her fright, and her eyes became steeled. She felt satisfied, unrelenting as she stared into her brother's face. After all, she knew what she was doing.

"Well." Yuuma finally said as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other and placed a hand on his hip. "Mother wouldn't like it."

"Father will laugh." Kanon countered.

Yuuma chuckled. "He would."

"Would"? Kanon briefly pondered, her thoughts interrupted by Yuuma, who stepped fully into her room. Taking a moment to close the door behind him, he offered, "Let me help?"

Blinking away her surprise, Kanon nodded as he kneeled behind her and took the knife from her still-delicate fingers. He hadn't even really waited for an answer before he moved to help. Apparently, he knew well enough his sister couldn't be stopped. And, after all, with a huge chunk of hair already hacked off, it wasn't as if he could repair the damage.

"How short?" Yuuma inquired. With her hand, Kanon gave an indication.

"That's short." He commented lightly, but didn't argue.

It was strange, Kanon thought, how he didn't even seem to disapprove. Yuuma was a peculiar person; did no one notice? He was difficult to read. Shouldn't he have scolded her, snatched the blade from her, and reported her misbehavior to their parents once they awoke?

Then again, Yuuma rarely acted in a manner that she expected him to.

She mused on, as Yuuma's hands, perhaps as decisive as her own had been, quickly worked, first hacking away at the long tresses so they severed at her shoulders, than proceeded to trim with careful flicks of the blade.

It was still dark outside by the time he was finished. Curious, Kanon brushed her fingers against the neatly cut ends of her formerly long hair.

"Your hair has been long from your earliest memory, hasn't it?" Yuuma passed his faint smile to her. She nodded.

"Well, no more." He said reassuringly, placing his hand on top of her head, and smirked. "Even though you look like a boy now."

Kanon snickered.

The nostalgically glowing sunlight might have been running across Yuuma's face a strange way, for his face was cast into a mold of a grieving man. He seemed overcome with a sudden melancholy as she glanced discreetly at him. Feeling a twinge of concern, Kanon tilted her head ever so slightly and bit the inside of her lip. She leaned over, one hand flat upon the floor to support herself, as she attempted to get a more thorough look at him.

"Yuuma...?"

Ducking down, he folded the canvas laden with her own discarded locks of hair. "Should I burn it, or bury it?"

"What....?"

As he rose, he sent another little smile at her. "Oh, nothing. It was a joke."

Kanon searched his half-turned face. Once he noticed her gaze, his smile spread, and he knelt down again to pat her on the head.

"You'll be okay, Kanon."

What....?

He pressed another kiss to her forehead, shaking her of her seedling thought. While she clutched her hand to her head and frowned in indignance, she watched as he made his way to the door. The beginning of the morning's glow was beginning to press through the paper door with invisible palms, the sour-sweet red of a freshly sliced grapefruit.

Yuuma seemed oblivious to the indignant glare Kanon used to peer at his broad back, until he paused to turn around at the doorway.

"Goodbye, then, Kanon." Smiling as normal, he ignored the quizzical expression that reshaped even Kanon's eyes. Yuuma then stepped over the threshold of the room. He wasted no time in closing the door behind him. Although she could hear his footsteps fade away, she couldn't see through the wall, although at that moment, she almost wished she could.

....And people said _she_ was odd....

Wasting no more time pointlessly thinking, Kanon gave it several minutes before she hurriedly began to gather the few belongings she deemed important. She hadn't counted on Yuuma discovering her, and the rest of her family would awaken soon; she had to be long gone before they rose from the comfort of their chambers. Sudden nostalgia couldn't tie her down, and Yuuma was a man, and didn't need her unnecessary concern. It wouldn't do him, nor her, any good.

With a small pack strapped to her back, Kanon slipped out of her room, once and for all. She first stepped lightly, on the front of her feet, carrying her shoes under one arm to keep herself as silent possible. However, as soon as she stepped out of the gates, she leaned against the wall to slip them on.

Although sure no one had seen her, Kanon suddenly felt a wave of uneasiness. Was it because she was leaving? Did some inner instinct tell her she was being watched?

With an anxious glance about, Kanon reassured herself she was alone; there wasn't even anyone on the street. And so no one could even tell her family they had seen her....

Nearby, a crow screeched, its loud call echoing out over the buildings and through the streets. It was a starting bell for Kanon, who broke into a run at the thought of getting caught by someone taking even a bleary look out their window.

It was time to leave.

* * *

Thus concludes Yuuma and Kanon's mini story. I was really starting to like Yuuma as I went along.

He loved his sister, didn't he? He knew she was leaving, didn't he?  
Ah, but he knew what he had to do...


End file.
